


don't care

by sasharyab



Category: Final Fantasy XV, Kingsglaive
Genre: Alternate Reality, F/M, POV Luna's, a small sketch, complicated relationship, lunyx
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 05:44:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8000737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasharyab/pseuds/sasharyab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His hands are strong, my same too lascivious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't care

**Author's Note:**

> I have long wanted to write on these two fanfiction, but the head absolutely nothing occurred. There were some thoughts, but to get it.  
> I never forced to read this nonsense.

He rushes in short sentences. On the face of my fake tears. We stand on the imaginary stage, changing cues, it is sometimes valid monologues. His voice was hoarse and tired. My exhausted and sick. Maybe it's time to relax?

At twenty-two hours and thirty, it's time to go home, but we continue to squabble, started completely from scratch. And then as they became fools bogged down, we meet with his lips, and then kiss to the teeth gnashing, as if fighting for the championship. His hands are strong, my same too lascivious. His neck already scarlet paint marks, legs give way, but the passionate caresses stop.  
Miraculously, trying to resist, survive to the finish. Its powerful and calloused hands, dig into the skin, scratching and bleeding.

Hair entangled, persistently climb in the eye. For three minutes, as the phone rings. Friends or parents undermine the telephone line.

He pushes me against the cold wall, husky moans.  
Don't care. Call back.

Also I do not care, they can detect. I do not care that it's wrong. I do not care that we are completely different.

Don't care. Don't care. Don't care.

Fingers stroked flushed cheeks of shamefaced desire, spend less on the neck, chest. He asks to quickly deal with it.

He reaches for a kiss, a little rough bites his lips, cheeky opens a stranger's mouth, his tongue on the palate ribbed in the future for a number of white teeth. His hands slide on the back, touching the hem of my skirt, pulling it down at first, but then, perhaps, changed his mind up.

I do not remember his hand pulled up my skirt. I was prostrate in the heat of passion. But he definitely liked it.

It expands my face to the wall, to the purple bruises squeezing her waist. I would have cried, but the voice remains.

Hips pressed against him, breathing part. He pulled my fingers. His eyes seem to be intoxicated, reddened lips parted in an attempt to breathe in the tainted deep breath.  
Moans with a dash of screams. We've still got to get to the sweet boiling point. That's just my tights torn, bitten lips, eyes longing, feeling wounded. And I was angry parents waiting at home. Bitter tears streamed down her cheeks, but they were not allowed to wash kisses.

My turn came to rush in short sentences. But his face real tears.

**Author's Note:**

> Very strange it worked ..


End file.
